When I was a child my father gave me a cow. It had a name and nothing else to identify. When the war broke out in Somalia everything used to identify a person has been destroyed such as offices that issued identification papers, thus I found myself reduced to the status of a cow in my village that has nothing more than its name. Peace makes man a human being, whereas lack of it deprives man his right to be a human being. Now I have begun regaining some of my lost identity and in time, if asylum is granted to me by the Swdish authorities, I hope I shall make a full recovery of all what I had lost in the war. Please pray for me. I dedicate this poem to Mr. Per Bergestgrom who gave me a diary in December 2007 as a new year gift.

I came to the world of numbers
Where I count with numbers
Not anymore in a numberless world
Where I counted without numbers

I came to the world of numbers
Where I am identified with a number
Not anymore in a numberless world
Where my tribe stood my ID. Card

I came to a world of numbers
Where my diary started working
Not anymore in a numberless world
Where diaries show owner´s name only

I came to the world of numbers
Where I am re-inventing myself
As I progress towards a person
Who possesses more than a name